The battle continued for a long time. Arriving at the walls of Minas Tirith shortly after dawn, Aragorn made his way to the gates only deep into the afternoon. At that moment, horsemen from the city and banners appeared there. Aragorn’s heart lit up for a moment with a premonition of joy, but it was replaced by anxiety. The banners belonged to the Prince of Dol Amroth, and he himself rode among the first. A mighty warrior, brave and wise, Aragorn remembered him as a very young man and was glad to see him again. But not as happy as I would have been with someone I was waiting for here.

‘How are things in the city? ’ Aragorn called out to the prince. The latter, who had just chopped off another black head, turned around and immediately dismounted. Recognition and joy flashed in her bright, clear eyes. He bowed to Aragorn.

‘Minas Tirith has not been taken, my king,’ he said.

‘I’m not a king yet,’ Aragorn waved away. He leaned on his sword and rested for a while. The battle was raging by the river and in some places in the city, but now the defenders were only finishing off the surviving servants of Mordor. ‘But I arranged to meet Boromir here, tell me why he didn’t fulfil his promise? ’

‘I am sure he would have fulfilled it if he could,’ the prince replied. In his words, Aragorn thought he heard anxiety and sadness.

‘Tell me everything,’ he demanded.

‘I’m sure he’s alive,’ the prince replied evasively. ‘The last time Boromir fought alongside me at dawn, we fought our way to the gates of the third circle. He was looking at the river all the time. I looked in the same direction, but I didn’t see anything. And at the same moment he suddenly exclaimed, ‘Ships! ’ and they appeared there.’ Prince Imrahil smiled, as if only by the power of his faith he had caused something that could not be. ‘Today has brought a lot of pain, but also joy. Go to the city, my king, and search it. His team was dropped to the east of Arsenal on the second lap, I heard the horn from there. I don’t know anything else.’

Aragorn followed the advice. He took a horse, found Legolas and Gimli — they continued to argue whether the set of drivers of the riding oliphant counted, if they only shot at oliphant and it crushed the riders itself — and the friends headed for the city. Aragorn did not carry banners with him, but he was recognized in the streets. If streets could be called what was left of the lower tiers of the fortress.

Having climbed to the very top of the city, they found Pippin in the steward’s house. The little hobbit was watching at the open doors, and in the house itself, in the halls and galleries, there was a hospital, women and children were hiding. The Tower of Ecthelion seemed to represent the same thing.

The meeting turned out to be touching. A joyful Pippin rushed to his friends; Aragorn picked him up like a child in his arms. Something subtly changed in this young hobbit, now dressed in the armour of the guardian of the White Tower. It seemed that the hobbit became even more cheerful and louder, and at the same time sadder and stronger. It was as if he had lived a lifetime in a few days of separation. And he hugged his friends as if he hadn’t seen them for ages.

‘Safe and sound again, master hobbit,’ grinned Gimli. ‘You’re a lucky fellow.’

‘And you’re probably right,’ Pippin admitted. ‘It happened here— Words can’t describe it; I’ve already regretted leaving the Shire a thousand times.’

‘So tell me what happened here,’ said Aragorn. ‘Where is the Steward, where is Gandalf? And where’s Boromir? ’

‘Oh,’ Pippin seemed confused, and Aragorn again had the feeling that he, like Prince Imrahil, did not want to talk about something. ‘Yes, they were just here. I definitely saw Gandalf in the hospital. The wounded are brought from the battlefield, there is no room for treatment in the wards.’

‘Whose idea was it to open the gates of the House? Wasn’t Denethor against it? ’ Aragorn asked.

‘Nothing depended on his words anymore, since he was no longer the steward…’ Pippin mumbled, then looked behind Aragorn. ‘But it would be better if someone else told you the details.’

Aragorn turned around. Boromir was standing at the open gate of the House. His face was covered in soot and blood, his expensive armour was crumpled, as if trolls were playing with them, or, more likely, he fell from somewhere from a height. The white cloak was torn off, a piece of translucent fabric behind the shoulders looked like a piece of wings of a wounded bird. He took a step towards Aragorn, fell on his right leg, but did not even wince, did not notice the pain. Aragorn ran across the square and embraced Boromir, ruthlessly crushing the remnants of the surviving ribs. And then he kissed me.

Aragorn did not think about what he was doing and what he would get in return. Even if Boromir hates him now, even if the answer is contempt and disgust — let him. He’s alive, that’s the main thing. But instead of the expected blow, Aragorn heard a strange, broken sigh, which he drank from Boromir’s mouth, and then these lips succumbed to his mute plea and answered.

The kiss would have lasted forever if Boromir hadn’t suddenly started to settle right in Aragorn’s hands. He only managed to support him and put him on the steps of the porch, not letting him fall sharply. Boromir’s face was terribly pale, but his cheekbones and lips were pink. He tried to smile. There was neither fright nor disgust in his gaze. Only the light.

‘I’m sorry—’ he said faintly, ‘that I didn’t meet you at the gate.’

‘Don’t apologize,’ Aragorn answered quickly. ‘Are you hurt? Tell me—’

‘No,’ Boromir interrupted. ‘But Faramir… he’s there… please…’

He did not have time to finish, as he fainted. There were hurried footsteps and the clatter of a staff nearby, and Gandalf knelt down at the steps. The wizard covered Boromir’s forehead and eyes with his palm, whispered something to himself, squinted. Finally, he took his hand away and breathed a sigh of relief.

‘All wounds are old. Boromir is just terribly tired. I haven’t seen him sleep or eat anything in these three days,’ he grumbled and got up. ‘But his brother really needs your help, Aragorn.’

With these words, Gandalf got up and quickly rushed into the halls where the hospital was located. Aragorn would have followed him immediately, but he simply couldn’t leave Boromir here on the steps. He also could not carry him in his arms — the Gondorian was the same height as him and much heavier. Halbarad, who arrived in time, helped to transfer him to the ward.

‘Gandalf! ’ Aragorn was already losing patience. ‘Finally explain what happened here?! ’

He caught up with the old wizard already in the corridors full of wounded. In one of the niches lay Captain Faramir — Aragorn had seen him only once, when he was still a baby, but now he immediately recognized him. He was incredibly similar to his brother, although his facial features were much more elegant and softer than Boromir’s.

Faramir was not seriously injured, but he already had a fever, and the infection that the Nazgûl carried joined it, turning even a trifling ailment into a deadly one. While Aragorn was busy with the preparation of herbs and urged the healers, who decided to recall all the songs and sayings about the athelas, Gandalf began his story.

‘I knew Boromir wouldn’t wait for Théoden. And it would have been better if he had arrived earlier. I suspected it, of course, but I didn’t know how deeply the Enemy had rooted fear here in the heart of Gondor. Lord Denethor has lost his former foresight and wisdom. But I didn’t know until then that he was crazy, too.’ Gandalf shook his head and sighed. To Aragorn, he seemed older than he had ever been. ‘Darkness was already creeping in from Minas Morgul. And then from the towers they saw a horseman on the road. People recognized Boromir in him. The city seemed to come alive in an instant. Do you believe me, Aragorn? Just now the funeral bells were almost ringing, and suddenly there were crowds of people in the streets. The gates were open, and Boromir headed for the steward’s house along a road strewn with flowers. Then I was also glad of this sinful act. More than I should have. I thought Denethor would see his beloved son and his mind would clear up. As if not so. I didn’t even get up to meet him, I just looked at him, burned him with my gaze. Once I almost twitched when Boromir pulled out a chain from under his clothes. And instead of the One Ring, he showed his father the Ring of Barahir. By the way, where did he get this? ’ Gandalf asked and narrowed his eyes slyly. ‘Boromir said you gave it to him yourself.’

‘No,’ Aragorn shook his head. He didn’t want to expose Boromir in a lie at all, but he didn’t want to lie to Gandalf even less. ‘He took it off himself. But we talked a lot about Denethor, he always assured me that the lord would not come between me and the throne. But, apparently, he began to doubt it himself, and he needed an argument.’

‘But it didn’t help,’ summed up Gandalf. ‘Denethor completely went crazy and started shouting that his son was dead, all that was the machinations of the enemy and his real son would have brought him a Ring— He said a lot of nasty things. When Boromir got tired of listening to all this, he ordered to leave him alone with his father. But it didn’t help either, because later he left the hall with a grey face and an abrasion on his cheek.’

‘Did his father hit him? ’

‘I think so. That mark was left by a stone in the ring on the hand of the steward. Boromir demanded that the guards look after Denethor, announced the steward’s serious mental illness and that he was now the steward himself. The princes and lords immediately swore allegiance to him, and he led everyone to the walls to prepare for the siege.’

Aragorn began to guess how that story ended. The pirates said that the steward was dead, one of his sons too, and the other was wounded. The truth was that Denethor mourned his firstborn while he was still alive. Aragorn was in a hurry to heal — he wanted to bring Faramir back to life as soon as possible, and then return to Boromir and say that there would be no more pain, he would not lose anyone else today. But even Aragorn’s mind, which knew all kinds of stories, could not predict what he would hear next.

‘It happened on the first night— No, the second one,’ Gandalf frowned. ‘The gate had already been shattered, but the enemies had not yet broken through to the second ring of the city. Our enemies had a harder time than they expected, so they took a little break. There were no attacks, only the Nazgûl circled in the air. We were all in a depressed mood, but the steward surpassed everyone. We did not have time to enjoy an unexpected respite, as came our frightened hobbit. He said that Denethor escaped from custody in the company of a couple of loyal people and went to Houses of the Dead, taking oil and firewood with him.’

Boromir and Faramir immediately jumped on their horses and rushed there, Shadowfax and I could barely keep up with them. But it was already too late. When we arrived there, screams could already be heard from behind the doors, and a burning human silhouette was rushing around inside. Faramir and I kept Boromir together so that he wouldn’t run away to his father. At the time, I thought we were about to lose another steward. Such losses split the mind. But Boromir was stronger. He shook his head, the delusion subsided. He ordered the gates to be locked and everyone to go to the second round, to extinguish what is still possible. Such was the end of the great Lord Denethor, son of Ecthelion,’ Gandalf finished. He lit his pipe, took a drag, and blew out a thick cloud of smoke.

Pippin climbed onto Faramir’s bed. He looked into the commander’s face with sadness and fear. Aragorn stroked his curly head and calmed him down.

‘Everything will be fine. He won’t die.’

‘Boromir is awake,’ Pippin suddenly exclaimed. ‘Halbarad is looking after him.’

‘I will go to him soon,’ said Aragorn.

He would like to fulfil these words right now, but the hospital was waiting for the hand of the king and the healer. Many, many wounded were touched by Black Breath. Local healers were able to heal wounds inflicted by iron, but they did not know any cure for such a disease. They had to remember a lot of old fairy tales and legends that began to come true today, when for the first time in a millennium people saw the royal banners. Only in the dead of night did Aragorn return to the tiny room next to the east gallery of the House, which was Boromir’s bedroom.

The room was a cross between a barracks and an ascetic cell. A narrow soldier’s cot, a stool, a chest, a basin and a jug. The only luxury was a huge hearth that occupied half of one wall. The room was very warm now, but Boromir was shivering with fatigue, and Halbarad brought him more blankets. He seemed to be dozing, but as soon as the door creaked and Aragorn entered, Boromir opened his eyes. He seemed to recognize the guest by his gait.

‘I know what happened to your father,’ said Aragorn. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Boromir’s shoulder through the blanket.

‘You were right,’ Boromir replied in an impassive voice. Then he pulled his hand out from under the blanket and handed Aragorn a chain with a ring. Barahir’s ring. ‘I stole it. I’m sorry. I thought it would convince my father if he didn’t believe Gandalf’s words— But it was all in vain.’

Aragorn took the ring back. There was no point in saying anything.

‘Can I ask you something? ’ Boromir turned on the bed, now he was lying on his back, the blanket slipped off, and Aragorn suddenly realized that he was naked. Of course, these wards now belonged to the hospital, and he must have been examined by a doctor. In order not to mess with clothes during dressings and not to change shirts for feverish ones, they strip everyone naked.

‘Ask for what you want,’ smiled Aragorn. He felt ashamed of his thoughts and tried to distract himself. Boromir is exhausted, depressed — to put it mildly, still unwell, and he, the king sung by songs, thinks about all sorts of obscenities. Not to mention the fact that Boromir himself did not give any right to such thoughts. One kiss doesn’t mean anything.

‘Kiss me again,’ Boromir said. And Aragorn froze, not believing his ears. ‘Like today next to the White Tree.’ And when he saw the confusion on Aragorn’s face, he immediately became confused and turned away. ‘I have a fog in my head, don’t pay attention—’

Aragorn cupped his face in his hands, turned him to himself, bent down and imprinted a kiss on his lips. During the day, there was a taste of blood, smoke and insane hope on his lips. Now Boromir’s lips smelled of something herbal and coniferous — apparently, decoctions with which he was watered — a little strong ale to calm his nerves, and faith. And, breaking the kiss, Aragorn saw faith and devotion in his eyes.

‘I never thought it could be… like this,’ Boromir whispered.

‘Have you never been kissed? ’ Aragorn was surprised. He knew that it was not considered reprehensible among soldiers for bachelors to visit brothels or even share a bed with each other, especially in moments of seething joy from victory in battle.

‘Not like that,’ Boromir shook his head. His eyelids were closing, he forced himself not to sleep with an effort of will. But when Aragorn wanted to tuck him in and leave, he restrained him by grabbing his arm tightly. ‘Stay with me.’

The bed was so narrow that it was possible to fit on it together only by hugging very tightly. Aragorn threw more logs on the hearth, stripped down to his underwear and crawled under the blanket. Boromir settled into the ring of his arms, warming himself and warming Aragorn with his warmth. The thick walls of the steward’s house almost did not let in sounds, the silence seemed absolute. Only the fire crackled in the fireplace, and from time to time voices from the street could be heard through the cracks of the shutters.

‘Yesterday it seemed to me that this nightmare would never end,’ Boromir admitted dully, without opening his eyes. His breath tickled Aragorn’s neck. ‘I’d like to find death in battle, if only—’

‘It’s not over yet,’ Aragorn replied. ‘But we’re still alive, and that’s the most important thing.’